


in my time of dying

by owbobmyhead



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alternative universe kinda thing, Angst, Brief Sexual Content, Drinking, Dysphoria, Emotional Hurt, Gerard and Frank live together, Gerard and Lynz are together, M/M, MCR isn't a thing in this, Random made up characters here and there, Trans Character, Trans Frank Iero, Trans Male Character, dark themes, vent - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-23
Updated: 2020-02-23
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:14:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22863094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/owbobmyhead/pseuds/owbobmyhead
Summary: he just wanted to go home
Comments: 3
Kudos: 15





	in my time of dying

**Author's Note:**

> originally posted as another pair but decided to change it to frerard

The sound of skateboard wheels being shred down to nothing sounded across the cracked pavement, stuttering along potholes and pebbles scattered here and there. Frank's jaw chattered and teeth ground against each other in a way that felt like sandpaper and sitting on top of a drying machine. His hair stuck to his forehead beaded with sweat from the humid August night air, poking his eyes and scratching them like dust particles carried in the cool wind. The breeze against his body cooled his skin, making the sweat feel cold. It was grounding, a reminder through the numbness that lived on layers of skin, that he could still feel. Most often than not, he felt completely numb. The kind of numbness where tapping your fingers against your thigh feels like a ghosts touch, or scratching at your arm feels like a whisper. It left him defeated, aching for something to give him the satisfaction of touch again, of being able to tell himself _I'm normal, I'm human, I can feel._ He felt like an alien with green skin and three eyes and a body different from any man or woman on earth. He felt foreign even to himself, and he had to discover who he was every single day. A restart button that someone kept pressing. Maybe God was fucking with him, if he's up there. 

  
  
  
  


The wheels on his board stopped at the doorway to his and Gerard's house, sliding over the pottery mushroom that sat off in the bushes to get the spare key and unlock the door. The house was quiet, which wasn't that out of the ordinary for them. He walked past the light beige walls that looked much darker without any sunlight, yet at the same time looked nearly white under the moonlight. They were covered with chips and cracks like spider webs drawn across the surface, bare without pictures hung in wooden frames, or trophie racks filled with glittering gold medals. Just plain walls filled with silence. 

  
  
  
  


He heard Gerard moving back in his bedroom, the soft tapping of bare feet across dark wooden floors like raindrops tapping against windowsills. It brought the smallest sense of comfort to Frank, who walked back to the others room to tap on the door to make his presence known. As he turned to walk away, the door opened. 

  
  
  
  


"Hey," Gerard's head popped out before fully emerging. He knew it was Frank but still took caution due to people always being in and out, "what have you been up to all night?"

  
  
  
  


Frank faced the other, letting a hand drag through his unkempt, windblown hair. It was getting long again and was in need of a wash. "Just out skating around," a shrug, "nothing much."

  
  
  
  


Gerard eyed him for a moment, something he always did. He was protective of people he cared for, it was always obvious to Frank especially seeing his dark eyes burning holes into Frank's head, out of love, of course. He nodded, his dark, messy hair falling across his forehead before he pushed it back. The silence led Frank to add a curious, "why?"

  
  
  
  


Another shrug, the black that draped over his shoulders in a three-sizes-too-big shirt riding up, black boxers peeking out from underneath. "Just lookin' out for you, is all."

  
  
  
  


Frank felt like he had to roll his eyes and grin, that was the response he was supposed to give, "what're you, my mom?" And that was his que to begin walking away before he was forced into a conversation he didn't have the energy to participate in. Gerard did that a lot, he was a talker. He felt those same eyes on the back of his neck as he neared his room, but heard no footsteps follow.

  
  
  
  


"Lynz is coming over tonight." Were the last words he heard before he stepped into his room. Frank popped his head out, "thanks for the warning", before closing his door to muffle the others laugh. 

  
  
  


.

  
  
  


He kept a pillow over his head all night, hoping by some accident, or miracle, that it would suffocate him. He was sweating, no wind offering its gentle breeze as he lay defeated, limbs sprawled out like a knight taken down in battle left with no energy to get back up. He took his fate and stared up at the pillow restricting his vision, seeing tiny stars shoot by now and then. He wished on every single one of them. 

  
  
  
  


The sounds of Gerard and his girlfriend down the hall still seeped through the woven threads and cotton stuffing like the quiet hum of static white noise. Barely there, but impossible to unhear once your ear caught onto it. He wanted to get out of the house, to go skate some more, to feel the wind against his skin, to get away-- but he was exhausted. In every way. His legs felt like tree trunks, limbs tethered to his sorry excuse of a bed (that was just a mattress on the floor) by roots wrapped around him. Tears welled in his eyes so he pushed the pillow closer, nose digging in to the scratchy fabric, breathing in dust and letting the wetness of his eyes seep into the pillow. He liked it that way, because when he woke to the morning sun, the stains from the night before would be dried. 

  
  
  


.

  
  
  


His bones felt like they were vibrating. That's the only way he could explain the anxiety ricocheting against each and every one of his ribs, making him feel like he would throw up as it rose higher. His hands shook, but when he raised them into his line of vision they were still. His entire body was high voltage, dangerously charged with no outlet to plug into. 

  
  
  
  


The group of people around him moved in a way that brought this feeling to life. They bumped and brushed against each other, touching and dancing, sliding, sometimes hitting. They were loud when they spoke and yelled and sang and drank. Everyone was drunk, or high, he didn't know. He was neither, and it made him feel even more alien as he stood off to the side of the room desperately feeling the walls to find a corner to hide in. The room might as well have been cylindrical.

  
  
  
  


He shoved his hands into the pouch of his hoodie, tired of tugging on the strings and hoping it would eat him whole. It was too fucking hot to be wearing the black hoodie with wool lining up and down the sleeves, across his chest and down his back. Sweat began to bead at the small of his back. He leaned back against the wall and felt it seep into the fabric. His fingers intertwined within the pocket, unable to stop moving-- picking at nails, pulling at hangnails that would bleed, twirling thumbs endlessly. He wanted to find Gerard, to beg Gerard _please fucking take me home I wanna' go home--_

  
  
  
  


A girl stopped in front of him, cutting off his string of chaos unraveling in his mind. She said something that he couldn't hear and he couldn't read lips, but then she was tugging at his wrist that still wouldn't leave his hoodie pocket and he was stumbling behind her. She smelled like cheap perfume, the kind in a plastic heart shaped bottle that you pick up at a drug store at some ungoly hour in the night to try and hide the smell of dog shit that you stepped in.

  
  
  
  


He was speaking to her, he realized through his mind going haywire, _where are we going I was looking for someone I'm already here with someone._ He swallowed thickly when she led them to an opening in a dark hallway. He sucked in a shuddering breath and was relieved when he could finally breathe, yet felt that die when the chick sunk to her knees with a dark grin smiling up at him. A red button was smacked in his brain, setting alarms to scream in his ears that he couldn't hear over. Red filled his vision, flashing lights swirling in. He slammed himself back against the wall as far as he could, breath being forced out of shriveled lungs-- " _no_ , no, I can't."

  
  
  
  


The girl's smile was wiped off her red stained lips faster than he could blink, a dark gaze settling in her eyes in its place. She looked like the devil perched upon his throne, slowly rising to her feet to stand drunkenly, swaying on her bare feet like a ship at sea-- and she was pissed. Her hand had barely brushed over his pants before he shoved them off.

  
  
  
  


"What the fuck is wrong with you?" She spat and Frank sunk in on himself, why was she yelling people are staring why-- "can't even get it up for me? What are you, a fuckin' fag?" 

  
  
  
  


He heard a few bursts of laughter from people staring as she shoved his chest as a final blow, crushing his weak lungs in the way that dry flower petals dissolve to dust under a shoe. He held his chest and ran. He didn't know where the door was but he would find it at some point, he just needed to run. The only thing his mind knew was run, run, _run_. 

  
  
  
  


He slammed into someone when he finally made it to the door and almost knocked them off their feet. Someone was yelling his name over and over but he was gone, shaking feet making their way atop his board and rolling down the street faster than he could keep up with. 

  
  
  
  


.

  
  
  
  


He slammed his door shut. There were flames in his lungs, coughing up smoke and ashes onto the warped wood of his door, twisting the lock between vibrating fingers. He ripped off the hoodie over his head that was high in the clouds, yet body buried so deep under the ground. Legs stuck, head swimming in clouds-- it was a combination that made his gut twist. Fingers clutching at fabric, throwing it to the floor, gripping at spandex that encased him like a sardine in a tin can with no room to move or air to breathe. His sweat made it stick to his skin like adhesive, ripping it off and over his head with a grunt before falling onto the Frankress with dead weight. Glitter sparkled behind his eyelids, similar to pin holes poked into a piece of black construction paper held up to the sun. Rolling onto his back, he found himself in the same place as always. Palms upturned, legs weighed down on the mattress, body in a fetal position as if giving himself up to death only to be reborn the next day. 

  
  
  
  


Someone came looking for him later. It was Gerard, it was always Gerard. He knocked on the locked door for ten minutes, not giving up until he heard a mumble from Frank. 

  
  
  
  


"Are you alive in there?" He could practically see him standing behind the door with his arms crossed. 

  
  
  
  


Frank's eyes rolled back into his head as his eyelids fell closed. 

  
  
  
  


"Shut up."

  
  
  


.

  
  
  


The air was beginning to get cold. He wore his hoodie without sweat dripping down his back, and rode his board without having to keel over and cough up his dried guts on sizzling asphalt. The road was damp under his bare feet, cool with early fall rain mixed in with the first fallen leaves. He was making his way back to the house after riding up and down the road about a thousand times before he fell into a puddle the size of a lake and soaked his shoes. He held them at his side, pebbles sinking into the soft undersides of his feet that weren't used to the cruelty of cracked neighborhood roads. 

  
  
  
  


Gerard had informed him that some guys were coming over, which is when he decided to venture away from the house before anyone showed up. He wasn't in the mindset to talk to anyone. His hands were steady at his sides as he walked, but the closer he got to the house, the more they felt electrified and ready to shock him. He tapped his pointer finger and his thumb together repeatedly with the hand that wasn't carrying soggy socks and shoes. 

  
  
  
  


He could already hear the voices from outside of the house, even though in reality he really couldn't. In his mind he could, and that's where his reality lived most of the time. Spending so long up there in the confines of his mind that he sometimes mixed those conversations he had with himself with ones he's actually had. 

  
  
  
  


He was so far in his head that he missed all the looks that got cast his way when he walked through the kitchen, soggy and greasy, leaving droplets of grey water in his wake. "You gonna' mop that up?" 

  
  
  
  


He set his shoes down on the linoleum tile next to the air vent to dry, sending a glance up to find who was talking to him. It was hard to figure out when ten pairs of eyes were on him silently. He let out a huff of breath as an excuse for a laugh before walking off to his room. He thought if he closed the door no one would bother him. He was wrong. He wasn't good at predicting others actions. 

  
  
  
  


There was a knock at his door later into the night, the same knock that Gerard always used. His ears perked up at the sound and called him to come in, sitting up from his spot on his mattress and setting his phone down. Gerard walked in and closed the door behind him, holding a look on his face that Frank couldn't read for the life of him. 

  
  
  
  


"What's up?" Frank pressed when the other failed to speak. Gerard was wringing his hands, it wasn't like him to do. 

  
  
  
  


"Someone wanted me to come get you."

  
  
  
  


Frank furrowed his brows instantly, "huh? Who?"

  
  
  
  


Gerard was looking at the walls to avoid eye contact-- again, something he never did. He looked at Frank from the corner of his eye before dropping his hands and his shoulders from their tense position, head rolling onto his neck with a sigh. "In the small walk from the kitchen to here I played a thousand scenarios in my head of you saying no, and it's fine if you say no, I just needed to look like I'm actually trying to get you outta' your room. There's this guy that wants to hang out with you, you don't have to, though, like I said I--"

  
  
  
  


"Nah, that's cool."

  
  
  
  


Gerard froze in place like an ice sculpture that was made to poorly resemble him. "What?"

  
  
  
  


"I said that's cool, I'll hang out with him. Who is it?"

  
  
  
  


Gerard stared at him a while longer before breaking down into that silent laugh of his. "Am I fucking high right now? No, okay, okay, sorry-- this is good. His name's Brain, I barely know him at all but apparently he knows you and thinks you're cool. I think he's one of Ray's friends." 

  
  
  
  


Frank nodded to take it in, feeling that trembling feeling in his fingers but pushing it down by pulling them into fists. "Yeah, just let me know when."

  
  
  
  


"That's the thing, he's here like...right now." Gerard scratched the back of his neck and looked at Frank sideways, ready to walk out and deliver the harsh no. Frank swallowed the feeling of imaginary vomit sliding up his throat at nodded in a forced way, knocking his wet hair against his forehead. 

  
  
  
  


"That's okay, I'll be out in a minute."

  
  
  
  


Gerard could've stood there and started at him like he had three eyeballs all day but he made himself nod and walk out, silently fist pumping the air and jumping for fucking joy. Frank could practically see through walls because he expected nothing less than a reaction like that. Frank rarely went out, especially after the incident at the party a few weeks ago that he didn't explain to anyone who hadn't seen it, Gerard being one of those. 

  
  
  
  


He pulled on some dry clothes without bothering to look in the mirror and walked out into the dark hallway, following the orange glow of light at the end. 

  
  
  


.

  
  
  


The guy, Brian, had a thing for Frank. It was obvious from the second Frank walked out to the living room and they made eye contact. Gerard had introduced them, they shook hands, and then they left together. The guy was trying to make small talk, asking Frank the epitome of _I wanna' get in your pants but don't wanna' seem too desperate_ kind of questions that suffocated the humid air around them as they walked down the road. He was nice, that was all Frank could give him, given the situation. They just met and the guy was walking him back to his place where he was going to fuck him, he knew it from the second Gerard said some guy _"thought he was cool"_ and wanted to _"hang out"._

  
  
  
  


"You have a girlfriend?" Brian asked which Frank couldn't help but scoff a laugh at. _Really, dude?_

  
  
  
  


"Nah, I did awhile ago but she got sick of me." 

  
  
  
  


"Boyfriend?" _Desperate?_

  
  
  
  


"Neither. I guess I just haven't found anyone that'll stick around." He offered with a shrug. He blocked out most of what the other said after that. He only lived a block away, which Frank only found half surprising because he'd only ever seen him once before at a party, but also not surprising because Frank never left the house. It was a small place, looked like he had a roommate who wasn't home, _how convenient_ , and he unlocked the door with ease. 

  
  
  
  


Frank stepped in and contemplated taking his shoes off at the door but saw the other track in mud without a care, so he decided against it. The house was decorated like his grandma's house-- old carpets and wooden floors that creaked when stepped on, frilly curtains caked with dust and cobwebs, a brown couch that looked like something you'd find in the back of a Goodwill. The air smelled faintly of must, but he didn't care, he was used to the smell. It lived in most of the places he found himself. It made him feel like he was transported back in time for a second before he was shot back into reality by lips smashed against his own. His eyes opened to meet Brian pulling away, a feeling swirling in his gut that he couldn't decide on where it came from. It felt sick like a virus flowing through his veins, attacking him from the inside, and it felt like carelessness in its purest form. 

  
  
  
  


"I just wanted to tell you, before anything, that I'm--" Frank spoke with a scratch in his throat, hands clammy and lips dry. 

  
  
  
  


"I know, it's all good." He cut him off, leaving Frank with that unclear feeling to grow. He licked his lips and nodded, biting at the inside of his cheek until it bled. 

  
  
  


.

  
  
  


He found himself laying on his back on a hard mattress a few moments later, a few feet down the hall. The other was on top of him, too close, too much heat in the dark room that barely had enough room for the small bed that groaned and creaked in protest with each movement. 

  
  
  
  


Pants were discarded and thrown onto the carpeted floor-- the kind of carpet that turned hard under years of wear. It stuck to the bottom of Frank's socks when he walked across it, pulling on loose threads to unravel. Just like he was, unraveling under a stranger's ministrations. He wasn't a stranger really, but he also really, really was. Frank was a stranger to himself. 

  
  
  
  


The guy was being too rough, hands trying to hike up the old oversized shirt that Frank had on even though Frank pulled it back down every time. His hands were far too many places at once and Frank just wanted it to stop, shoving them away when they grabbed at his chest, trying to get a feel for it, to which Frank just pushed away harder. 

  
  
  
  


"Don't touch me there," he mumbled, but it was loud enough for the other to hear. He got a half ass nod, lips on his neck. There was one window in the room to the left of the bed, Frank kept his eyes there. The moon was full but hidden behind grey clouds, offering no light to the world except for a glow across the room. It felt like a spotlight, he felt so self aware and vulnerable under the moons eye. He silently asked it to look away. The clouds covered it. And he got hands back on his chest not even seconds later. "Please don't fucking touch me there."

  
  
  
  


A mumbled sorry against skin, muffled into nothing because he didn't listen, his hands kept grabbing and going back to the same spot and Frank felt lightheaded and it was too much, too humid in that fucking tiny room and he felt red hot all over like coals. "I said fucking _don't_." 

  
  
  
  


Frank grabbed his hands and threw them off, pulling his shirt down and jerking away from the other completely, grimacing heavily when he felt him slide out, swatting away desperate hands that flew around like flies in attempts to apologize in soft touches. Frank blocked him out like cotton in his ears, not giving a fuck if he finished or not, not caring if he'd never see this guy again, not caring about anything other than going back to his own room and slamming the door. 

  
  
  
  


He quickly pulled on his pants without his boxers and threw his hoodie on as fast as he could, just about running to the door to get his shoes and leave. He couldn't get his shoes on fast enough, having to settle with being barefoot a second time while the other was right on his tail. He kept grabbing for Frank, asking him to stay, then getting pissed and saying things at him that Frank never wants to remember. He slammed the door in the guys face and started his walk home. He could've called Gerard, probably should have because for all he knew that guy could be right behind him ready to beat the living shit out of him. He didn't look back and ran the rest of the way home, pebbles stuck into his feet. 

  
  
  


.

  
  
  


It was dark by the time he made it to their doorstep. 

  
  
  


He made his way inside silently, not hearing any voices through the halls anymore-- everyone must have gone home. He let out a sigh of relief. Maybe Gerard would be gone too, maybe gone to see Lynz for the night if he was lucky. But who was he joking, he was never lucky. 

  
  
  
  


"You're back home late." Gerard stood in his doorway with arms crossed, a crooked grin on his lips. Frank wished he could grin back. He just stayed silent and walked into his room, wanting to crawl out of his skin. He needed a shower, he needed the hottest fucking shower and a gallon of 91% alcohol to douse his body with. 

  
  
  
  


"How'd it go? What'd you guys do? You can't just leave me in the dark." Gerard continued to pry and it made his skin itch but he couldn't be mad at the other. 

  
  
  
  


"It went however you think it should've gone." He shrugged, placing his shoes by the vent to air out again. Silence filled the house through an open window, a whisper of the night.

  
  
  
  


"Did something happen?" Gerard's voice changed 360°, holding a much more cautious tone, like Frank was a shard of glass about to break or a fucking rabbit easily scared into running away. 

  
  
  
  


"We fucked, he pissed me off, I left." He shrugged and walked to the only bathroom in the house, closing the door behind him when he heard no reply but silence. He could picture Gerard standing in the dark doorway with a sad look on his face, feeling sorry for his friend. It felt like the whole world was sorry for Frank, he felt it on his shoulders that sagged when he took off his hoodie and shirt that needed to be burned after being touched by unwanted hands. He leaned over the sink, feeling a sting down his thighs that dulled into a subtle ache. He felt like the world was weighing down on him, _why me, why me, poor Frank, poor me_. He never wanted to feel sorry for himself, but at times he did. 

  
  
  
  


He looked in the mirror at the reflection staring back at him, wondering who he was and how he got to this moment in time. His face was splotchy with uneven facial hair, skin greasy and breaking out from the humidity. His hair in his eyes, getting longer every day. Every day getting longer. 

  
  
  
  


He got in the shower and didn't come out for a long, long time. Gerard had to knock on the door after awhile just to see if he was okay. He wasn't, but the shower turned off after that. 

  
  
  


.

  
  
  


He felt the earth turning on its axis. He felt the seasons changing beneath his feet. Everything around him was changing so quickly, but he stayed frozen in time. He had been trying to get out more often again, after weeks of isolation after that night. Gerard didn't pester him about it, and Frank didn't talk about it. It was slowly decaying into a thing of the past like the leaves that shriveled and fell to the ground around him. But it still lived in his mind, just like the image of summer. 

  
  
  
  


The sun was slowly dying, bleeding out into a sunset of reds and blood oranges, the colors of the inside of a peach, or of a fresh wound. He watched it from the window of a house that he didn't know, you'd think he'd learn his lesson and just stay home-- but he wasn't giving up yet. If after tonight things went bad, he vowed to be bed-bound for the rest of his life. Not really, but it was just another conversation he had with himself. 

  
  
  
  


He knew most of the faces around him, Gerard not able to make it because he was off with Lynz at home for a movie night. Typical straight stuff, they're in love, blah blah. Frank was happy for them, often pondering if Frank ends up old and alone if they'll let him become a part of their relationship. He nearly laughed out loud into the lip of his red cup, filled with Sprite and something else that ruined the taste of the Sprite. He wasn't much into drinking, at all. Everyone else seemed to be as they laughed like someone told the funniest joke ever heard, choking on alcohol and smoke that swirled around the ceiling fans. Frank choked if he inhaled too deeply. 

  
  
  
  


He tried to pick up on the conversation around him to look as if he were a part of it, looking back and forth at moving lips to try and gauge who was speaking. 

  
  
  
  


"Yeah, and she was pulling me to her room like I was the only person in the whole world," someone was saying and he wasn't impressed, very cliche and predictable to talk about a chick with other chicks around. He didn't understand why people used that tactic to try and get with someone, who gives a fuck. He caught onto the conversation again too late, catching the tail end of a too in depth story about fucking some chick that was way too graphic but way too funny to everyone else in the room that was bursting with laughter again. It was loud, way too loud and hot and filled with smoke that smelled like must and dust bunnies. He choked on his drink, attracting a few eyes. He heard someone call his name, all eyes on him, "Frank, what about you? Fucked anyone recently?" 

  
  
  
  


And what kind of question was that? All eyes, twenty pairs of them, forty eyes total all staring his way. Some were bright blue, some dark, some red and dazed. He shook his head, offering an attempt at a grin, and everything cut off from there. People were shouting things at him over each other, and the weight settled in on his shoulders like a boulder again. Pity, shame-- he felt bad for himself, he felt others feeling bad for him, he felt it all. And he stood, and he left the room as non-frantically as he could to save himself the shame of tripping over someone's shoes. He realized his head felt dizzy, vision spinning the opposite way. 

  
  
  
  


"Fuck," he cursed to himself, making it to the front porch and sitting down on the steps. Head between knees, trying to catch a steady rhythm to breathe. He stood up too fast, maybe, a head rush mixed with anxiety in a perfect concoction that filled a red cup. He was so fucking over everyone. Everything. He was over trying to force himself out of his box, trying to talk and interact with people who would never know, would never fucking understand. He was tired of putting on a face of Frank, Frank Iero, the quiet guy who all the girls think is hot and all the boys find pretty, but no one wants anything to do with because of what he's made of. No one wants him because of his anxieties, of his quirks and his problems. His problems-- he was drowning in all of them. He felt all of them through the vibrations in his veins, ricocheting off of his blood vessels and exploding out the tips of his fingers. He dialed Gerard's number. He picked up within the first ring,

  
  
  
  


"Please come pick me up. I wanna' go home."


End file.
